Everlong
by piratesmiley
Summary: AU. Peter and Olivia discuss the future. P/O.


A/N: Hey there. It's been a while. Here's some AU-ness for you.

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><p>Have you ever seen something precious and fragile wither and die before your eyes?<p>

Olivia had.

(And no, she wasn't referring to the baby birds the two of them had tried to save the summer before, the ones they named after characters from _The Catcher in the Rye_, the ones that they'd carried out a surprisingly elaborate funeral for, those little lives.)

It was utterly earth-shaking, watching something slip away and standing, powerless to do anything about it. But that's what she did one day. It was a meaningless conversation, a benign exchange among millions of quips and bites they had given and taken since the very beginning.

But it just came out. A vocal manifestation of an unhidden desire. She stayed so still she almost willed time to roll back, for tragedy to undo itself.

He turned his head away, sighed with the transmission. She pinked, but stayed silent.

_Oh, Olivia_, he sighed internally. It was a moan, a plea. A silent chastisement.

An agreement.

She watched him. The look she beamed continuously at him was mild, almost pleasant; but he felt the torrent underneath, welcomed it as it beat against the place where her mind ended and his began. Her flurry was a funny thing – too constant. It made them both tired sometimes, refreshed them others. But it was always there, and he sought it out on occasion, from miles away, just to make sure.

She knew all of this, but she hadn't given it any thought before.

"I tried not to," she murmured cautiously, sending up a test balloon. She needed to _know._ Even if he didn't act. She just needed to know.

He sighed again, but it wasn't discontented, just lost to an errant emotion, something she couldn't grasp any more than the borderline-tangible thump she picked up on inside his chest – just the one. She was surprised he was still letting her tune in; if rejection was coming, he wouldn't do it via brainwaves. He was too gentlemanly.

So what did that mean?

She let her singular puff of hope dissipate, and it didn't hit him over the head, but wafted over him like the faintest breeze. _Hint, hint._

He almost smiled.

"You love me back, don't you?" She said, and she was light, disturbingly calm; and not only for his benefit, but because she felt the warmth of sunlight coming on. Because finally he stopped looking away. Instead his head fell down, his chin almost to his chest. Carbon dioxide exited his mouth in a steady stream, sure not to come back.

"I didn't think that was in question," he replied.

And she smiled. _How typical._ "Of course it was. You've never said anything about it."

He let afloat his own test balloon. _Haven't I?_

But he still wouldn't look. After a moment of deliberation, she spoke. "Hey, you."

It worked.

And then she realized how wrong she was.

The look in his eye was too much to take, far too much; but the sights he imagined, she looked in on – the eighth wonder of the world – fell smack on her head and left her star-struck and shaking. The whole situation twisted from inescapable doom to complete, blissful rapture in the space of a few microseconds; he extrapolated the entire spectrum of possibility and it was terrifying.

Of course she had to act on it. She had to make him be with her. She couldn't live without it, and she hadn't even had it yet.

But he hesitated.

Finally, he just said it.

"Nobody's going to be happy about this."

This was true.

"Nobody has to be happy but us."

This was also true.

_Let me win._ _You won't regret it._ It was a shaking misstep, to even think it, but if he could understand where it came from – from great need, from blatant, inscrutable need – he could accept it.

And she could feel the fight finishing.

He placed a hand, cool and dry, on her cheek. No other motion, just a bit of contact. She smiled.

The light from the sun glowed everywhere, burned everything into gold.

_This is gonna hurt,_ he thought, in a final, weak attempt at persuasion.

"You don't really care, though, do you?"

He pulled her close, enveloped her.

And he whispered, "Not anymore."


End file.
